In Retrospect
by Ryourin
Summary: In retrospect, Matt used to like Mello a little more than he did now. Matt/Mello


_A/N at the end._

In Retrospect

In retrospect, this probably wasn't one of Mello's brightest ideas.

No, Matt was actually fairly sure that barging into a pub full of dangerous and armed criminals counted as "incautious".

It was definitely something Mello would do, and had done approximately five minutes before, which left Matt where he was right now; guarding the backdoor of a pub that served as a hideout for a few goddamn mobsters Mello planned to get _acquainted with_.

All sarcastic thoughts aside, Matt was feeling more and more uncomfortable waiting outside, not knowing _what the fuck_ his batshit insane friend was doing inside there. He couldn't yet go in because of Mello's commands ("Just stay the fuck out 'till I say so!"), but hell, he had to do something.

Mello might've been more of a criminal than a few of the guys in there, but right now he was nothing but a 15-year-old with an inferiority complex that forced him to pull off stuff like this.

A single gun wouldn't help him there.

Why exactly did Matt let him do it in the first place, anyway?

Then, as if to taunt Matt's overactive imagination, a gunshot echoed through the wooden door of the pub and someone burst out of the building; a certain someone in full leather attire, a gun in one hand. The other hand appeared to be broken.

Matt didn't find any words to say.

"We should go," Mello ordered, voice harsh and seemingly out of breath.

Matt stared, dumbfounded, when he heard more steps approaching from _inside_, and turned to follow Mello into the dark.

A few whispered, hushed chats and a spectacular escape later (which involved a chain-link fence, a few dark alleys and the obligatory dead end), both boys were back in their run-down apartment, both panting and sweating from exhaustion.

"You…," Matt began, but was cut off by his lungs' overwhelming need for oxygen.

"You owe me _big time_."

"What for?" Mello asked, tiredly splayed out on the floor. He'd treated his injured hand with a few makeshift bandages and a ton of painkillers, and now he just felt too goddamn tired to care about the fact that he lay on the dirty floor in their shabby room while Matt occupied all the space in the queen-sized bed.

"Nearly getting killed? Risking my life for your crazy ideas? Dragging your ass over a fucking fence?" Matt suggested, and Mello felt too tired to act even remotely serious. He rolled his eyes instead, cocked his head aside and stared directly into Matt's eyes (that, for once, weren't covered with those ludicrous goggles of his).

"You didn't have to," was all Mello finally said.

Matt didn't answer. He slid off the bed and lay down next to Mello on the dirty floor without looking at his friend even once. When he eventually turned his head to look at Mello, the other's gaze was still fixed on him, and he squirmed noticeably under Mello's discomforting stare.

"As if I'd leave you hanging," Matt replied, still uncomfortable, but he meant every word he said.

Mello suppressed a grin. "Don't get all sappy on me, shithead," he said, and moved just a fraction of an inch closer, making Matt's breath hitch in surprise when his hand brushed bare skin and Mello's fingers lightly touched the nape of his neck.

Matt didn't dare to look at the other's face. For once, he was at a complete loss of what to do, how to react, because after all this was _Mello_, and for a 15-year-old he could get quite frightening, all jokes about leather-loving blonds aside.

A hand slipped under his shirt; fingertips softly traced his ribs and left a stinging feeling of something much like desperation in the pit of his stomach. Even after seconds of nothing but a lingering touch, he felt like he was about to go mad every second. His breath was ragged, most likely not from the still present exhaustion of that night's events, and he was almost sure Mello must've noticed, and yet he continued. Not that he knew what the hell Mello intended to do now, anyway.

The hand stroke his skin with a little more force than before, applying pressure and causing sensations he didn't even knew he was able to feel, and even though Matt knew better, he leaned into the touch and decided to enjoy it as long as it lasted.

Suddenly, the warm hand was pulled away, and Matt had to fight the urge to moan in frustration; but mere seconds later, he could feel Mello's warm breath hovering over his throat, over his jaw line, over his _lips,_ and then their lips touched in a poor imitation of a kiss, but still, it felt like heaven and hell combined.

**

"So… kidnapping it is." Matt lit another cigarette and inhaled once again before he turned to look at Mello. "What do you want me to do, then?"

They were both sitting in the sleazy hotel room they accommodated for the time being; Matt hadn't even bothered to cover his skepticism, not even when Mello choose to stab Matt to death with a sheer glare aimed at him.

"Cut the sarcasm," he responded quietly, and to anyone else but Matt it would've sounded calm and disinterested, but he knew better, knew exactly when Mello's voice reached the turning point between _barely composed_ and _downright threatening_- he'd known him long enough to tell apart the tiniest flickers of emotion in the other's voice, and Mello was well aware of that.

He was openly daring Matt just with the tone of his voice, daring him to say something, to interfere, to keep him from risking his life in a fight that was pointless anyway, because he always expected Matt to be the reasonable one, but Matt didn't.

Mello had to do it; it was most likely the only thing that had kept him alive for so long, for 21 years, longer than most of L's former successors; the competition, him being part of a battle he perhaps _couldn't_ win at all. He probably knew it, even.

It wasn't that Matt never questioned Mello, because he did, and he did now, too. He just didn't want to lose him to anyone but death himself.

He'd lost track of the time he'd spent with Mello, but he wasn't going to risk the last few years they still might've had. Matt wasn't one for unrealistic ideals, and even though he wasn't a pessimist either, he knew the life they led didn't exactly guarantee a happily-ever-after. Not that the idea of living happily ever after combined with Mello wasn't already absolutely ridiculous.

"I'm not being sarcastic," Matt replied, voice flat and toneless.

"Like hell you aren't," Mello sneered, and made a grimace vaguely reminiscent of the old Mello Matt so badly missed.

If it were old Mello, Matt probably would've replied with another stupid joke, but since he wasn't talking to him, he just kept quiet.

Mello surveyed him for a brief second and then stepped closer.

"You're pathetic," Mello said, and the tone of his voice was provocative on purpose, Matt knew.

"You're _afraid_ of me."

Then, Matt laughed, laughed loudly, for not longer than a few seconds at most; it rather resembled a bark than actual laughter.  
"As if," he said, grinned desperately, and Mello came closer and pushed him on the bed, with himself landing on top of Matt.

His grasp on Matt's body was hard, nothing like the way Matt remembered the lingering touches from years ago, but he could pretend, and that was just fine with him. It had always been.

**

In retrospect, Matt used to like Mello a little more than he did now. But now, against all odds, he needed him more than ever.

**

_Almost… wrote... porn. Almost. With 15-year-olds__; now I feel like a pedo._

_Anyway. I have no idea why I wrote this, really. Probably because plotbunnies have been inhabiting my brain. Reviews would be nice; concrit as well._


End file.
